


And to All a Good Night

by strikeyourcolors



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Childbirth, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Comedy, Crossdressing, Family, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Historical Drag, wholesome family values
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikeyourcolors/pseuds/strikeyourcolors
Summary: Another year another holiday party for charity. Bruce expects some semblance of good behavior out of his family members. He should have known better. Maybe they're too good? Maybe it will all go horribly right?
Comments: 7
Kudos: 135





	And to All a Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently Christmas fics are going to be my thing so here's another one! If you enjoy it, I tend to do one every year so check out my past stories. 
> 
> This is mostly fluff and despite tags I promise nothing graphic happens. Comedy, good feelings, and holiday spirit only. I hope.

The car ride is quiet. Stifling, Tim thinks, and is grateful he has a window seat if nothing else. Bruce is seated in the middle, between himself and Damian who has outgrown kicking him but probably not accidentally arranging for his face to be smashed into glass somehow. Alfred is driving and he has the radio on some British narrator reading The Christmas Story and it would be soothing under different circumstances. 

The suit probably has to do with his feeling of suffocation. The collar is high. The tie feels like a noose. A noose with tiny snowmen on it. Bruce's has reindeer. Damian's is plaid. 

"And why isn't Dick in the car?" Tim asks. 

"Because he volunteered to make certain Jason arrived to the party on time," Bruce answers without inflection. 

"And why are we going to this party?"

"Because it's for charity and we have to do at least three and this was the one that was voted in." 

"And why do they think a fashion show is the best way to raise money for charity at Christmas?"

"Because it works the other three hundred and sixty four days a year," Bruce replies. His tone hasn't changed. He's answered patiently; he hasn't even looked up from whatever he's doing on his cell phone. "You should like it. It's all historical garb this year. Even if you don't like it you should at least stop complaining." 

Tim glares at nothing. In the reflection of the window he can see Damian's smug face, glad that his silence has been taken not as a sulk but as a mark of maturity. "I'm not complaining I'm inquiring," he shoots back. "I could have rounded Jason up." 

"A case Dick was working intersected a case Jason had an interest in. They were going to follow a time sensitive lead and meet us at the party." Tim thinks that Bruce is doing some kind of last minute Christmas shopping - his browser window has a bunch of toasters in it. "Human trafficking case. It made more sense this way." 

"Besides the fact," Damian says primly. "That he would not have fit in the car with us without us being unseemly. Though I could give have given him my spot..." 

His fingers must twitch, because Bruce's steely gaze shoots up from his phone. "If you open the door and fall out of a moving car again I'm returning all of your gifts." 

"I don't need gifts," the youngest snaps. 

"Again?" Tim inquires. 

"He very much perfected the art around the sixth time," Alfred chimes in from the driver's seat where he is very much not the typical butler in that he makes them aware he can hear everything that's being said. "Not a scratch on his trousers." 

"It's all about the roll," Damian replies sagely. 

Bruce groans. He looks at his watch despite having the digital display on his phone right in front of him. 

~*~*~

Dick is also looking at his watch. He's wondering how easily he can shuck his Nightwing suit and get into an actual suit or if he might have to layer. Definitely, he expected them to be done by now. 

It's a heavy-hitting case. He'd thought it had been the standard, nasty case of human trafficking that sometimes plagues Gotham. Usually law enforcement is good about shutting anything down and the vigilantes are trained enough to see the precursors that the would-be captors don't make it very far. Gotham is never the final destination in any case, just a point to move product. Human product. 

In this case, alien product. Genetically modified product. He shouldn't be surprised that some monster has moved on not only to capturing and selling sentient humans but experimenting on them as well. The other planetary stuff is a bit of a rumor - hard to tell the difference in a being from another planet and one that's been modified from photos alone. 

He thinks this is another dead end. The building is silent and while it isn't dusty enough for him to think it hasn't been used in a long time, he doubts it has been used recently. There's no sign of human occupation. Certainly not of a large-scale operation that would be needed to move living cargo without being detected. 

"We're too late if there ever was anything here," he informs Jason, looking him over and realizing there is no way he's going to be able to put on a people suit over his vigilante suit. They are definitely going to arrive fashionably behind schedule. "Let's get going." 

"You just want to sneak backstage and let all the models coo over you," Red Hood answers. 

Dick sighs longingly. "I wish. Used to be I'd take Tim back there to help with their makeup and they'd talk about how adorable he was and what a great brother I was. Now Tim does that by himself if it's needed and when I try to take Damian back there he tells them I put him in a bag and hit him with a stick for fun." 

"Well do you?"

He scowls. "No." 

"Maybe you should. I bet you want to." Jason is feeling along a wall that looks like it is made of solid brick. "The outdoor dimensions don't match up with the interior. There's space behind here." 

"Maybe it's a fire wall," the older vigilante suggests. "Maybe you miscalculated. Maybe it's been remodeled. Maybe-"

The wall slides up, revealing a spiraling stair case. "Or maybe that," he admits with a defeated sigh. He texts Bruce. Secret doorway. Will be late. Totally normal.

By the time he looks up Jason is halfway down the stairs. Dick scampers to catch up, and he's almost relieved to find the basement level is dark and quiet. 

But this floor? It has seen recent use. There are cages for animals in one corner and cages big enough for humans down one wall. The place has a smell of old blood and suffering. There is some abandoned laboratory equipment. "I'll take genetically modified stock for one hundred," Nightwing murmurs. "But I think we're too late here, too." 

He's kind of glad for the Red Hood's helmet. He's sure the look on Jason's face is one of rage and that isn't a pretty expression to see. In fact, it's a little frightening. The man stalks ahead of him, giving one of the cage doors a brutal kick. 

Which is when Dick hears something. There's the echo of the metal but his well-trained ears detect something else. The scrape of skin on dirt. He looks for dirt - the floor is mostly chipped tile that probably is ninety nine percent asbestos but toward the end of the basement area, the floor turns to dirt. "I don't think we're alone," he says softly. 

He hears the secret door they entered through start to close. He dashes toward it and he's happy to be a fraction too slow when another door, this one steel, slides _up_ from the floor, crushing itself against the stone ceiling loud enough that for a split second Dick thinks the whole place is about to cave in on them. 

From somewhere in the darkness, there's a shriek. Dick decides this is how they die. 

~*~*~

"Just so you know," Tim says casually as they enter the party space. "The toaster you're looking for is called a Smeg toaster. Smeagol is a character from Lord of the Rings." 

Bruce looks at him. "What?"

"You were searching in the car for a smeagol toaster. Smeg is the kitchen appliance brand." 

He leaves Bruce standing there looking alternately unamused and puzzled. The room is surprisingly elegant. Wide open with abundant plant-life and a stage that juts out into the middle of the room. There are chairs surrounding it but the other half of the room is filled with couches and tables. It's keeping it casual, by the standards of Gotham's elite. 

He plans to have some appetizers and maybe a specialty cocktail before he makes the rounds. He's starving and dinner won't be served until after the fashion show. He's used to that by now. The models in this case are relatives of the party-goers in this case. Daughters and granddaughters who see it as a right of passage. Nieces from small towns visiting for the holidays who want a taste of glamour. A tasteful affair, all things considered. 

He has eaten two sausage balls and some hummus dip when he's found out. The girl was in his class years ago. Lilah. Wealthy enough to fit in but not so wealthy as to be entirely spoiled. They'd gotten along well. "Oh thank goodness! I need you to do my eyeliner and draw a little heart next to my mouth. Can you do that?"

Her small hand is wrapped around his wrist and he thinks she might squeeze it hard enough to break the bones if she's not careful. "Marie Antoinette?"

"Let them eat cake because I'm sure not going to in my corset," Lilah replies. She's starting to drag him so he throws back the rest of his cocktail, stuffs a few pretzels in his mouth for the road, and follows her.

No one bats an eyelash at a man being dragged through the communal dressing room. There are a few curtained cubes set up, anyway, for undergarments to be changed into. "I found him!" Lilah calls out. "But I get first dibs on him!" 

He wonders when it came to this. Had he revealed his makeup skills in high school? Had it been for theater? He's not sure, but definitely somewhere along the line word got out for events like these. Professional makeup artists were usually a waste, the other models were too busy to do much makeup, and there were never enough hands to go around. 

Lilah has set up shop in a corner which is about the only place big enough to accommodate the large sets of panniers around her. She has a few ladies in waiting, apparently, for her set. 

Tim stares at the makeup set out on the counter and gets to work. He's mentally constructing a battle plan as he powders her face and starts to line her eyes. Already there are arguments over who needs help the fastest based on when everyone is going on stage. 

Suddenly, another model grabs him by the arm. He contemplates throwing her over his hip to teach her a lesson about thinking his personal space belongs to her but there's something frantic and worried in her eyes. "You didn't eat the crab salad did you?"

He shakes his head a negative. He hadn't even noticed there was crab salad and it's not high on his list of appetizers he wants, anyway. "Nope." 

"Oh thank God," the girl says. "Sophie and Zenia are both in the bathroom with food poisoning." 

"No!" Lilah exclaims. "Zenia is my lady in waiting!" 

"I know," her companion laments. "It looks like we're going to lose five or six models!" 

They begin discussing the logistics of making the show work. Tim modifies his plan of attack. 

~*~*~

Dick doesn't clutch Jason's arm. But he's definitely holding on to it in the darkness. For safety, really. For both of them. "Tell me that whatever just shrieked wasn't organic," Jason hisses. 

They both have turned on night vision but it's too dark in the basement for it to work particularly well. They are scanning, heads bobbing, looking for a threat. 

Which is when the overhead lights suddenly turn on. They recoil, both falling into defensive stances as their eyes adjust. 

Standing before them is...something. Dick would guess automatically that it's a woman, but he probably should talk based on high cheekbones and facial structure. She's saying something in no language he's ever heard and her voice is high-pitched. Her body is long - she's taller than Jason. Her limbs seem stretched and her fingers are unnaturally long. Her skin is a pretty shade of pale purple.

She's also hugely pregnant. That or she's eaten a very round object very recently. She stares at them. They stare back. Her speech ceases and she makes a motion with her arms. Cradling. Then she rubs her stomach. 

Dick mentally congratulates himself both for guessing she was pregnant and for the fact he's not about to be swallowed whole. 

Jason is faster to react. "Are you hurt? Why are you here? Were you taken prisoner?" He is approaching her already, examining her without touching her. Whatever she is wearing is gauzy and flowy and leaves very little to the imagination. 

Her head inclines. She doesn't understand their language any more than they understand hers. 

"Not Spanish, not French, not German," Dick begins. 

"Not Portuguese, not Mandarin, not Japanese." 

"Greek?" Dick suggests. 

"Because the Greek language is well known for making a series of clicking noises," Jason snaps. "I don't think she's from around these parts." 

Probably not, but Dick's brain is still focused on genetically modified humans, even if he definitely knows the truth is out there and that aliens come in a variety of shapes and sizes. "Nightwing," he says, pointing to himself. "Red Hood." He points to Jason. Then points to her. 

"Mara," she says. Or he thinks she says. Then she doubles over, her hands against her swollen abdomen. Through the transparent fabric, Dick can see that her stomach is rippling. Contracting. 

"Oh fuck," Jason says. "You're having a baby like right now, aren't you?"

Her eyes are entirely pink sclera. They'd be pretty if it wasn't so hard to read her expression. She makes the cradling motion again and drops to a squat. The next word is clear. "Help." 

"We need to get the doors open," Jason decides instantly. "How did you get in here, Mara? We have to get you out and call for help." 

"Yeah," Dick says. "Definitely the local emergency room is equipped for her. Also, my phone has no signal down here." 

"It's like every horror movie ever," Jason says, unhappily. He goes to the steel door, examining it, while Dick scrambles around for something to put on the floor. There are some sheets that seem clean enough and he helps Mara hobble over to the tile. "I think I can break the latches on this. It's in the same place as the upstairs door...breaking the lever should let us move them both." 

It's awkward putting Mara on the sheet nest he's made not because of her pregnancy but because of how _tall_ she is. She's almost like the alien species in the movie with the floating islands. The name escapes him. Her face is more humanoid though. She has four fingers, evenly spaced over her hand. They don't have nail beds. A quick glance down shows him her toes are the same. "How about I take a look at the door?"

"Which of us is more mechanically inclined and which is better at people skills?" Jason answers. He does back away from the door but he's searching for tools, scanning everything around them. "Looks like the door shutting triggers a generator to turn on. At least we're not in the dark." 

"I'm going to look for supplies," Dick tells Mara, who is sitting there panting with the effort it took to get situated on the floor. She blinks at him with those unnerving pink eyes but doesn't protest when he heads to join Jason. Dick's on a mission for gauze, or another blanket, or a hidden phone. He must look mildly panicked because the larger man nudges him with surprising gentleness. 

"You think you should boil some water while I pace in the delivery room or something?" He brings out a metal piece that looks like a shoehorn, testing the strength of the metal and discarding it a moment later. 

Dick finds a screwdriver in one of his drawers and passes it over. "We don't even have enough water to boil and I'm not sure what the step is after that even if we did it. Do you use the water to sterilize things? To wash the baby?" 

"You mean the big man didn't make you go through an emergency childbirth simulation as part of your medical training?" It's unclear if Jason is serious in that. He deems the screwdriver acceptable and shoves it in his waistband along with a pack of matches and some other metal pieces. "Besides, how do you know what she's having is anything like a human baby?" 

Panic rises up in Dick. Not at the idea of Mara giving birth to something not human; he knows different doesn't mean distinctly evil or bad. Instead he's worried he won't know what to do. That someone will die because of his lack of knowledge in this. 

"Hey," Jason says softly. He's taken off the helmet and he's left in a sliver of a mask. It's almost what Dick is wearing but his face looks somehow naked. "You can only do the best you can do, right? I bet it's a lot like human birth and she probably knows what to do. You're just there to help." 

" _We're_ there to help," Dick insists. "You're not leaving all this on me just because you think I'm better at emotional stuff than you are." 

Mara yelps and they both turn in unison, but she's only holding her contracting abdomen. "How soon was that?" Jason asks. "Eventually contractions just happen one on top of the other and the baby comes out, right?"

Dick isn't entirely sure. "I think if everything is progressing normally?" The question is how to tell. He goes to have a very awkward pantomime session with Mara and lets Jason start work on the door. 

~*~*~

The line of women to be made up is dwindling. So, too, are their options. They've been making phone calls, kidnapping girls from the party itself, and trying to connect with sorority sisters and distant relatives alike to see if they can get to the party and into a dress in time. 

He's happy they've rescheduled things a little bit. Dinner is going to be served before the fashion show begins now. That way the serving will be over before the lights dim and the patrons will have something to entertain them. It means he's starving but it also means that things backstage aren't going to get ugly as quickly. On stage? Well, surely Gotham's elite won't throw food.

They have six spots to fill. They have four substitutes. Tim is trying to shut out the chaos going on around him as he pins pieces of holly and golden leaves into Lilah's wig. He's teased it up a bit and if Lilah wasn't taller than he was before she certainly towers over him now. 

His mouth is full of hair pins; he finds that keeps him from trying to point out the most logical solutions to their problems or being expected to chime in on why someone's boyfriend never calls. These aren't vapid women; most have been given every advantage money brings and most have taken advantage of the education part of that. They seem to know about the time periods they represent and they have complicated speeches to give. They are his type of people he supposes, but not who he's really drawn to when push comes to shove. 

And there is a lot of pushing and shoving backstage. He spits out hair pins into his hand and gives Lilah's wig another spritz of hairspray. "Let's let that dry and let the ozone repair the hole I just put in it. Don't get near an open flame." 

"Tim! Help!" Another woman, Chae, is standing in an underdress and a cage hoop. What he thinks is supposed to be a cage hoop, anyway. The metal is warped in one place and the wires guiding it have coiled up, making an odd little dip.

He drops to his knees beside her but he can't reach the wires. He frowns. He could pad out the dress but..."I need someone with small hands and a lot of dexterity." At the blank looks he receives he sighs. "Get Damian."

There _are_ some wary glances at that. Damian Wayne has a reputation and they probably feel like it might be putting a rabid Pomeranian in a room full of kittens. They're not exactly wrong but even Tim will admit Damian has improved. Besides the fact squashing your hands into spaces and performing very careful work while potentially getting stabbed is what they are best at. 

Damian arrives in surprisingly record time, having been found trying to make friends with one of the lovebirds that's going to be used in an act. Christmas miracle of Christmas miracles, he doesn't even complain too much. His eyes do narrow, however. 

Fortunately, Chae explains it to him. How her dress just collapsed and Tim isn't clever enough to fix it and would he mind too terribly? He likes a pretty girl's attention, Tim thinks with a smirk. Even better he likes her insulting Tim and him being able to come to the rescue. 

He expects Damian to be shy or a little flummoxed. He certainly would be at that age. But Damian dives into fixing the cage and Tim is surprised to realize that there are other boys and a few men scattered around. Helping. All in the name of Christmas charity he supposes. 

"I just don't know what we're going to do," A woman is telling Lilah when he returns to her to see if her hair needs another layer of lacquer. "This is our biggest event of the year! It raises the most money and you know those old matrons won't open their husbands' checkbooks if a thing goes wrong."

Lilah looks at him like a saint and a savior. "Tim will help," she says. 

Tim thinks of Barbara and Stephanie. He thinks of Tam and anyone else.

"Absolutely not," Damian says from where he's bending the cage hoop back into place. 

~*~*~

"Those contractions are getting really close together," Jason says from where he has the door about four inches of the way down. "You might want to take a look and see how things are going." 

Mara is on her back, knees spread, but the gown has bunched up concealing mostly everything. Dick has held her hand, soothed her, and eventually through a weird game of charades has come to the conclusion that yes, this is labor, and they are expecting a pretty humanoid baby. "Why am I looking? Didn't you deliver a baby on a stopped subway once as Robin?"

"That wasn't so much delivering a baby as holding out a towel and catching it," the other man responds. "Like a football. A really slimy, heavy football. I had my eyes closed too." He grunts a little, putting all his weight into the board he has wedged into the gap. "Besides, you're the one who has had the alien girlfriend." 

"Because these situations are totally equal," Dick grumbles. He looks back at Mara. "Can I look?" He says, gesturing toward her crotch in the least offensive way possible. 

In response, she flips up her dress. Truthfully, she's been taking all of this amazingly well. He's sure she can birth the damn baby herself if she wants to but also she seems appreciative of the steps being taken on her behalf. They've found some surgical scissors and bandaging. Some antiseptic enough to sterilize everything at least until they can get her some real help. 

Dick is relieved that she has genitalia he's familiar with. "You know the Christmas story and the manger and being born in a stable?" He asks, trying to clinically judge if there's anything they should be concerned about. 

"I'm aware," Jason mutters. "You know, if I had Damian and his small hands we'd be out of here right now." 

Nightwing is mostly ignoring him. "How do you think they sanitized everything?"

Jason is too occupied to stare at him like he's a moron, at least. "How did they sanitize anything back then? I'm sure infant mortality was through the roof." 

"But a stable. All the hay. The animal poop." He makes a face. "At least it makes me feel less like we're doing a terrible job here." 

Mara screams suddenly. Jason is over in a flash. Dick's eyes have widened. "I think we've got something going on here."

"Can I look?" Jason asks the alien woman on the floor. She waves him on to where Dick is crouched, apparently giving her permission. Her lavender skin is tinged brighter now. Heat seems to be radiating off her body. He kneels. He looks. "Yeah I think that's a head." 

They both tilt their own heads. "Well what the fuck am I doing then?" Dick demands. He's not sure why he's panicking inside. He's faced down scarier things than the miracle of life. "Mara? What do you need help with?"

"Help!" She latches on to that word. And she sets them to work. Jason ends up behind her, holding her up, his large hands on either one of her thighs like he's a living chair. Dick keeps his position and she guides his five-fingered hands with hers. 

"Kid's gonna be long like she is," Jason realizes. It explains the positioning. The reason she needs another set of hands. "Come on, Goldilocks, I can't scrape you off the floor." 

It's strange getting a pep talk from one Jason Todd. It's strange needing a pep talk. But he pulls himself together and looks at Mara's bright, strained face. "We've got you," he assures her. "Let's do this, okay? Let's meet your baby." 

She lets out a trill he hopes is agreement. 

~*~*~

It turns out Tim fits in women's clothing quite well. He pretends to be surprised because he doesn't want to have to explain being a crossdresser _or_ a vigilante to this room of people. His arms and shoulders are a little too toned and his thighs are a little too big but that hardly matters under the skirt. The corset is not going to cinch in much, but it gives him more of a curve to his waist than it would on, say, Bruce. 

For a moment he muses at the idea of Bruce in a historical gown. In any type of drag, really. He supposes he has a preview because Damian is not far away being used like a dress-up doll. 

He's surprised at that, honestly. He would think Damian would protest something about dignity and masculinity. But upon hearing that the animal shelter might not get their usual donation he agreed quickly. "Not all of us have your notions of toxic masculinity, Drake," he says, holding his arms up to have a petticoat dropped over his head. His dress is simple by comparison. Tim is jealous. Jealous over his brother's gown. 

Tim's dress is...well at least it's not as elaborate as Lilah's. And his wig is easier to balance on his head. 

The makeup is more difficult, both because they are already halfway dressed and because Tim hasn't prepared for their facial structures. He knows his own pretty well but historical makeup will be trickier to apply. Damian's?

Damian has the puppyish roundness of youth, but he's definitely going to have Bruce's features. There are dashes of Talia thrown in. Something prettier and not just in his hazel eyes. He's surprised to realize Damian has lost a lot of that baby fat. He's growing up, becoming who he will be physically as an adult and, it seems, mentally as well. 

Is this what Dick felt with him? The sudden realization that someone you saw as a near infant is now a near adult?

He fortunately doesn't have much time to evaluate it too deeply. He realizes that Damian is copying him, watching his motions carefully to set his base layer of make-up. And when Tim mentions he needs less because of the time period? Damian scoffs, insists he knew that, but he _listens_.

"It's showtime, everyone!" The woman from before calls out. 

Damian stabs him with a hairpin as they start to file out and Tim is about to take offense before he realizes his brother needs help pinning the back of his bonnet. 

~*~*~

The baby looks very much like a human baby, it turns out. His sclera are blue and his skin is purple and faintly shimmering. He's _gorgeous_ , Dick thinks, and murmurs. "I want that color in a toaster or a blender or something." 

Jason rolls his eyes but agrees the pearlescent finish is nice. The baby is wrapped up in the cleanest cloth they could find and seems to be doing well. Four fingers. Four toes. No pupils. Completely bald. 

Mara seems exhausted, and who could blame her, but there's no blood and no wounds they can see. She holds the baby up toward Jason while she rolls to her knees to apparently try to get to her feet. Dick slides under her arm to help and Jason accepts the squirming infant. 

It's hard to tell where the baby is looking, especially through his slitted eyes. He yawns and Jason can see the inside of his mouth is silver. 

Then he pukes. Though 'puke' doesn't really describe the word. The baby _erupts_ out of its tiny mouth and the amount of liquid that comes out is unbelievable. The kid hasn't nursed, he hasn't even been alive an hour, but here he is spewing like the worst science fair volcano ever. Dick is left open-mouthed and horrified as Jason is positively coated. 

But it's not vomit. At least not as they typically see it. The liquid is shimmering and for a moment Dick thinks it is blood before he realizes it is purple and looks almost metallic and glittery. Like the slime that has become so popular for kids Damian's age to make. It's beautiful in an odd kind of way. 

Mara claps her long-fingered hands together and trills. He doesn't need to speak her language to know she's cheering and a glance confirms that she is grinning widely, showing too many teeth for a human, and she looks so proud. 

Jason is a statue, frozen in place, the baby extended from his body. Dick takes him quickly and deposits him in his mother's arms where she lovingly nuzzles him. "Are you...okay?" He asks a little awkwardly. Jason isn't melting so it's not acid. He doesn't seem to be transforming into anything. He smells...actually he smells kind of good. Like aloe and rainwater. 

"Do I look okay?" Jason asks, once the slime has dripped off his face enough that a swipe of fingers removes the rest of it. 

"You look like what would happen if the movie Carrie went horribly right. Like a dress rehearsal where pig's blood is too expensive." He's trying not to laugh. He's trying very hard. Now that the baby is delivered and everyone is alright there's a euphoria sweeping over him. "So how about that door?"

Jason gives him the finger, which slings baby vomit slime at him. Dick skitters away, still laughing, to get to work on the door. He's soothed by the sounds of Mara congratulating her baby - apparently that was entirely expected on her part, anyway. 

The Red Hood goes to the corner to towel off. Dick hopes his mask got a clear recording of Jason's expression because he wants to relive that moment a few times. 

~*~*~

Tim was unaware this was supposed to be educational on top of entertaining. He feels like even he learns a little bit from each act and set. He's also surrounded by amazingly talented women. They sing and dance and play musical instruments. They recite poetry and discuss the scientific complexities of eggnog. He has a vague thought that he and Damian are inadequate in the world's strangest beauty pageant. 

But Damian is devouring it all. His eyes are wide and thrilled in a way that Tim previously would have assumed was blood lust. He likes the show, Tim thinks. However much he argues and protests. How he hates society patrons and the way they pinch his cheeks, he enjoys some of these productions they put on. At least, the ones with substance. 

He's having brief fantasies of how many boards Damian will start sitting on when it's his turn. He's pushed forward, but still behind Lilah. He whips out his fan to demurely hide his face, but also because he's sure it's beet red. 

"Pull it together, Drake," Damian hisses from off stage. His mouth is blood red and Tim panics for a split second before he remembers that he applied the lipstick to his younger brother himself. 

He pulls it together. They only have their scene and a finale. 

~*~*~

"Yes! We're free!" Dick yells about the time the door drops and the lights turn off again. 

Fortunately by that point they've wrapped the baby up warmly. Mara is dressed in her gauzy covering and Jason's jacket and another sheet. She gets on her feet surprisingly easily for someone who just had a rather large baby come out of her and she barely needs any help at all until they get to the stairs. 

Between the two of them they haul her up and it seems no time at all that they are standing in the alley way where all of this had started. It's cold outside, but the weather is clear and it feels oddly still for Gotham City. 

"Do we take her to the hospital?" Dick asks. "Call in Martian Manhunter?" He's about to turn to ask Mara when he sees that she's glowing. It's a pleasant light, soft, like the moon is reflecting on her. She smiles at them again and chirps, waves her hand and Dick swears he hears _Thank you_.

Then she's gone. Blinked out of the alley. He stares at the spot where she was, and looks to Jason, who is also staring and still faintly shimmering purple. "Did that just-" 

"Yeah they do that," Jason replies and Dick wonders when he became an expert on intergalactic creatures. 

They stand there for probably thirty seconds before Dick remembers the bags they have stowed away and the party. "I bet we can make the last hour of the gala." 

The look he received is critical. "Do we really need to?"

"I've been told there will be no hot cocoa for me if I don't show up," Dick says. "But do what you want."

~*~*~

Bruce isn't having a bad time. It's not a good time, but it's not a bad one either. Usually that's the best he can hope for. Tim has disappeared and he's been complimented by Mrs. Wethers about his son assisting her girls so he assumes he's backstage. Damian is simply gone but that's not uncommon for these parties either. Every time Bruce tries to look for him he's set upon by another well-wisher. 

Jason isn't there. No surprise. Dick doesn't show up either, which concerns him. The text that comes is that they are held up in a case and Bruce knows those things that come up suddenly can take all night so he really shouldn't be surprised. Maybe he's masking disappointment with his concern. 

Alfred's response to him is that the suits are still active and vitals are still fine. Nightwing and Red Hood are simply still working a case and doesn't he want his boys to help the less fortunate in the best way they know how?

Properly chastised he sits at his table, has a couple of drinks, and tries to interact. These are his people, really. He was born into this. And some of them are not all that bad. They have quite a few discussions about the arts, he catches up on the latest gossip as to what this or that funding is to be used for. It's not a bad party at all. 

Even the entertainment is to his tastes. After the show starts he expects Tim to appear. He expects Damian to be drawn out as well. Instead he's left sitting at his table with Alfred and four empty seats. 

He tries not to let it get to him. The man at the table beside him leans over and is saying something about how the funds should have been used for a different charity. Bruce makes some kind of vague noise, not really disagreeing or agreeing, wanting to end the conversation quickly. He's watching the show, because something about a few of the performers looks quite familiar somehow. 

He realizes belatedly the man was saying something about a return to fantasy values and that the sound he was making might have been agreement when everything clicks for him. About the point the man says "Aren't those two of your sons up there?"

And, surely enough, Damian and Tim are both on stage. In the back, but the vantage point is perfect to see their faces. Bruce had been texting Dick when they'd been on stage before, surely. Now suddenly all the knowing and fond glances his way make sense. "They...are," he says, scrounging for some reason _why_.

"Two of your sons in dresses? In drag?" the man demands. 

"They look quite fetching," Alfred says.

"It's for charity," Bruce snaps back and then. "They do look great. I'm proud of them." 

That seems to end the conversation. He wonders why in the world they are up there but then when everyone on stage is holding a sign with a letter on it he realizes that all their hands are necessary for the proper word to be spelled out. 

He seems Tim's hand on all the faces. He sees little meticulous touches by Damian. And he _is_ proud of them, he's surprised to find. 

He's still bursting with fatherly affection when the other errant two children tumble in, ducking into their seats quickly. Dick murmurs a quiet apology and Jason takes to devouring the food on his dinner plate that has by now gotten cold and..."Is that new cologne?" He asks Dick. 

"It's Jason," his eldest replies casually. "It's nice, right? Though I'd think more scented candle than cologne." 

Jason's eyes narrow as he continues to shovel food in his mouth and...

"Why are you sparkling?" Bruce asks, sure suddenly that everyone in the place can hear him enunciating that word. "And you're...purple?"

"Just a little," Dick assures him. 

Jason swallows. "I thought red and green was overdone, you know? Decided purple glitter should be the way of the holiday decorating future." He pauses, surveying his surroundings. "Why are two of your sons in corsets and giant dresses?"

Dick snaps his fingers. "I knew something was different but I was going to go with the big hat and bigger wig." 

"It's a bonnet," Bruce replies. 

"And he looks lovely in it," Alfred adds, eyes twinkling. 

Jason washes down his meal with half of the carafe of water for the table. "I know this is going to steal our thunder for delivering an alien baby but I don't even care. Pass the rolls." 

Bruce does so automatically, his hand is still on the basket of bread when he asks. "Alien baby?"

"Don't tell him a word of the story until there is cocoa in my mouth," Dick insists. "Are Dami and Timmy holding hands up there? Is it another Christmas miracle?"

Bruce doesn't say it because it's too sappy and he thinks Jason would bully him for the rest of their lives, but he feels like his table is full of miracles. 

Damian and Tim join them about fifteen minutes after the finale. They are in their freshly pressed suits and most of the makeup has been wiped away, but not all of it. 

"You did great!" Dick exclaims. "I don't know why you were doing it in the first place but it was awesome!" 

"Why are you purple and sparkly?" Tim asks Jason.

"Alien birth," he replies. "Why were you in a dress?"

"Crab salad," Tim says. "They needed some people to fill in. Snagged about four guys and five girls." 

"We were the best," Damian adds. He seems to be trying to eat his food. At least vegetables are better than cold meat.

"I think we should stop for take out on the way home," Bruce decides. "So eat enough that you won't faint or anything." That's mostly a joke. He shouldn't feel accomplished that his sons are so sturdy from fighting crime, but somehow he does. 

"No one fall into a swoon," Dick agrees. "Or get the vapors." 

"Or consumption," Jason cuts in, surfacing for air from the basket of rolls. 

~*~*~

It's barely after Christmas when Batman is being informed of the trafficking of alien lifeforms in Gotham City by the Justice League. Because of the ground work by Nightwing and Red Hood, he can at least say he's aware of the situation. He tells them, leaving out some details, of the evening they'd had when they'd delivered an alien baby. 

It turns out they are aware of Mara, and of her son, whose name is Niod. The combination of sounds from Night and Hood might be a coincidence, but Bruce doesn't believe in many of those. He decides to pass it on to Jason. It might make up for sparkling for the last two weeks. He doesn't think so. But maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and happy holidays!


End file.
